Blood in the Brandywine
by hoom
Summary: Two years after the tragic death of his parents, Frodo Baggins finds himself plauged by nightmares. But when he begins to see the disturbing figure of his dreams in broad daylight, Frodo realizes it was no mere "accident" that ended his parents' lives..
1. Chapter 1

**Blood in the Brandywine**

**By: hoom**

**Hi! Umm I realize that this is quite a bit darker then what I usually write, but this is my first time at writing something in the non-comedy section, so please tell me if you like it. Like I said before, this is rather dark, and somewhat graphic. I'm sorry if this disturbs anyone, but the chances of that are slim, because, like I said, this is my first time writing something like this, so that's probably not going to happen:D **

**Anyway, enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Lord Of The Rings, nor any of Tolkien's other works. I don't own the book, the movie, the animated movie, the musical, etc. I don't own anything! This is purely for my own amusement, not for profit.**

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The hobbit groaned, and opened his eyes. He was lying on the floor of his room, half of his body on the bed, and half, not so. His blankets had been pushed aside, and lay in a small heap, halfway across the room. The hobbits closed his eyes and wondered what had woken him. There was a loud knock on the door, followed by a dramatic sigh. 'Oh,' the hobbit thought, 'That's what woke me.' He groaned again. Another knock.

"Frodo, wake up! Auntie Emse wants to talk to you!" Frodo Baggins raised his head from where it had been pressed into the floor boards. That was probably one of his cousins. "FRODO!!!!" Frodo tried to answer her, but his head had started pounding, and his tongue felt like sandpaper. "Mmmhhhhh." Frodo replied, before squeezing his eyes shut, and pressing his head back against the floor.

"All right, I'll tell her you're coming," said the voice, before stomping off, muttering to herself.

"Nugggh." Frodo rolled over and stared up at the ceiling, little black dots swarming his vision. He blinked a few times, trying to clear his vision. He felt so dizzy he could hear the blood pounding in his ears, each pulse seaming to make his head hotter and hotter, until he was sure there was a haze of red hovering above his forehead.

"That's...not…good…" he muttered to himself. 'It's not like I have a hang over,' Frodo thought, 'I didn't drink anything….' He sat up, immediately regretting it as a wave of nausea pounded into him. Frodo groaned as he clutched his stomach. "I mean it," he said out loud, "Not even a half pint." Suddenly, it all became clear to him. "Oh…that's right, my…dream."

Frodo Baggins was a normal 14 year old hobbit, or at least, he had been. That was before two years ago, when his parents had gone out boating one night. Before he had seen their pale, bloated bodies two days later, when they had finally found and dragged them to the river bank. Before he was moved to Brandy Hall and ignored by all of its occupants. But especially, before he had received a note telling him that the boating accident that had claimed his parents lives, was no accident. It was murder.

Since then, the dreams had started. They always began the same way. He was alone in his room reading a book, just like he was on that fateful night, when his parents failed to return. Then, suddenly the lights would go out. He would look up in alarm, as everything drained of color, and as the room slowly began to change and twist. Then the breathing would start, loud, impossibly loud, so close that he could feel the vibrations with each rasping breath coming from somewhere deep down. The walls of the room would expand and compress with every breath, still twisting, still stretching. He would try to run, hide, scream- _anything_- but he couldn't move, not even close his eyes. All he could do was watch as the hall way stretched itself through his open door, twisting, twisting, the walls groaning in protest, the breaths getting louder and raspier.

Then, the front door would bang open, revealing two pale and distorted figures in the door way, as the hall way would lurch forewords towards the open door. A heavy inhale would reverberate throughout the hall, still twisting, still creaking, dragging Frodo down the hall to greet his guests. Frodo would be pulled towards the open door, and towards the two figures that used to be his parents, now bloated and horribly decayed, that had finally come home.

(A/N: I'm sorry if that was too disturbing, but unfortunately it's not over yet. You can skip this next part if it bothers you, because it's not too important to the plot and rather graphic!)

If it was a good night, he would wake up after seeing their ruined faces twist into something that resembled a smile, but if it was a bad night, it would not end there. Frodo's heart would all but stop as he looked upon his parents, remembering how he had wished he could see them one last time after they had died. But not like this. Frodo wanted to see them as they before, kind, carefree people. How his mother's laughter used to lighten up the whole house, casing away all traces sadness, and how she always seamed to smell like fresh baked bread and sunflowers. The way his father would pretend to be cross with him, when he would beg to hear another story before bed time, and how he would always give in, when Frodo gave his cutest, sad eyed, little smile. That's how he wanted to see them. Not as twisted, deformed, imitations of their former selves. But that's what he saw.

They would smile at him, the movement causing their decayed flesh to partially fall away, revealing rotted teeth and bone in place of skin. "_Frodo_" they would crock to him, mouths gapping open, saliva dribbling to the floor.

"_They want you dead."_ Frodo would be paralyzed with fear, unable to move as they slowly advanced, eyes open impossibly wide.

"_They're coming for you." _Frodo could see maggots and worms slithering in their hair, feasting on what was left of their once, fair skin.

"_They will find you…."_ All he could hear was his heart pounding in his ears.

"_And when they do…"_ He started to whimper, pleading for it to stop.

"_They will kill you…"_ His breath caught in his throat.

"_JUST LIKE THEY KILLED US." _Suddenly there was a crack of lightning, and a sudden gust of wind blew everything together in a spiral. Frodo would be caught up in the vortex, his fear stabbing into him like a knife, as his parent's words would echo eerily. He would be spinning, around and around, as parts of his room would fly past. Picture frames, toys, books, furniture, all would be caught up in the spiral. Window and doors would flash past, slamming open, his parents staring at him, gaping eyes and rotting flesh, and then they would be whipped away, and replaced by something else. He could hear other voices as well, his relatives, friends, neighbors, all of them at once, coming from every direction. His head throbbed with pain, his heart beating all too fast as everything all melded together, spinning faster and farter, until it was just a blur of shapes and noise.

And then, came the part he most dreaded. He was under water, looking up. All he could see was the night sky and the stars. Then, he heard his mother scream, and something dark splattered across the water, covering the night sky and stars. He could hear thrashing, screaming, and he realized with a lurching feeling that it was blood. He was swimming in his own parent's blood, now completely obscuring his vision so all he could see was deep crimson.

Then the screaming stopped, replaced by an eerie silence. Then, through all the blood water, he would see the silhouette of a man. The man started to laugh, the coldest, unforgiving sound he had ever heard, chilling his very soul. Frodo was suddenly lurched downwards, deeper, deeper into the water, as everything began to fade. The man would hold up a long knife and lick it clean of his parent's blood, just as everything faded to grey, the laughter of his parent's murderer echoing in his mind.

No wonder he felt like crap.

"FRODO!!!!" Frodo groaned again. "I'm coming, I'm coming!" he called, wishing for once he could have a good night's rest and not have to think about his parent's murder. "Give a poor hobbit a break." He muttered, heading down stairs to see what his aunt had in store for him.

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**Sorry if that was disturbing or anything, I didn't think it would end up like that! Anyway, please r/r, all comments are welcome! (Even the flames!)**

**hoom**


	2. Chapter 2

** Blood in the Brandywine: Chapter 2**

Sorry about the wait! I've been trying to get over this _evil_ writer's block for a while now, and I finally managed to bully myself into it. Yay. Rejoice. Whoopee. (If you didn't catch the note of sarcasm, it was there.)

Disclaimer: I do not own The Lord of the Rings, and as much as I wish it otherwise, it remains so.

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Frodo got about halfway down the hallway, when suddenly one of the doors burst open. "Did you _hear _what Daisy and Hal were doing the other day?!" was about all he heard, before he was trampled by about fifteen of Brandy Hall's various occupants, all gossiping excitedly, and heading down for breakfast.

Other doorways opened as well, and before he knew it, Frodo was pressed up against the wall, hoping he wouldn't be swept away in the huge crowd of hungry hobbits. When they had finally cleared out, Frodo let out a sigh of relief, and un-flattened himself from the wall. He never understood why the female hobbits had these crazy sleepovers. It's not like they didn't live in the same place.

By the time he had reached the kitchen, he had discovered several new bruises (in various places on his body), and that his headache had worsened. "Was that from the dream or the hobbits, I wonder?" he smiled to himself. His smile faded at the look on his Aunt Esmeralda's face.

"Frodo, what kept you?" She asked, annoyance thick in her voice, as she flipped some sort of pancake in one hand, and furiously stirred a large vat of oatmeal with the other.

"I'm sorry Aunt Esmeralda, but I got caught in the morning crowd. And you know how they are when they're hungry." Frodo knew his aunt probably wasn't listening. It was all just some sort of game, where whatever you told them really didn't matter; you got the same reply anyway.

"Alright Frodo, just don't do it again." said Aunt Esmeralda distractedly, pouring more batter onto the pan, leaving little white blobs on the space between the stove and the counter. "Now Frodo, I need you to help clean out the stables again, seeing as we're slightly shorthanded. You'll be working with Roy and Hugo, you've met them before, right? Oh yes, you worked with them yesterday." Large amounts of steam were rising from the stove, as she attacked the other two pans with a spatula. "It's just until Yule is over. We need all the help we can get, what with all the family over, and all the hungry mouths to feed."

Frodo took this as his dismissal. "Sure Aunt Esmeralda." He said, nodding to her. Not like she heard him, he thought dejectedly. 'She's already told me that yesterday.' He thought glumly, turning around. His heart caught in his throat as the red, glowing eyes of the cloaked and hooded man staring in at him through the window met his own. He gasped in horror, but the man was already gone.

Frodo realized that it was the same man from his dream. The man who had killed his parents, and was supposedly going after Frodo now. The same man that had stood only a few feet away from him, with nothing but a thin screen of glass in between them. Breathing heavily with a hand over his mouth, Frodo realized the true impact of what this meant, and stood there frozen to the spot. What was he supposed to do?! How did the man know where to find him?! He had some how managed to track him down, out of all the hundreds of hobbits living in the Hall. And on top of that, he was practically right beside him a few moments ago. _Right Beside him!!_ The man was probably still lurking around outside, in the courtyard or the stables… And then Frodo remembered. As much as he wanted to hide under his bed, curled up in a ball, he had to do what his Aunt had told him. And right now, that meant cleaning out the stables. Outside.

Frodo, trembling like mad, silently made his way to the door, leaving his Aunt Esmeralda flipping pancakes and muttering to herself, completely oblivious to her nephew leaving the hall for what he thought was the last time.

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Frodo slowly peered around the door as it creaked open, cautiously peering out. When nothing jumped out at him, he slowly edged out from the door way, head nervously turning from side to side. He took a few steps, and then very slowly reached back and touched the door. Then, in one swift movement, he slammed it shut, and whirled around, not wanting to leave his back to the woods. After a few minutes, he very slowly crept foreword a few paces, hearing only his heart pounding in his ears. There was still no sign of the man. Suddenly there was a crack, and the snapping of a twig. Frodo gave a loud squeak, and before he knew it, he was sprinting toward the stables.

He collapsed once inside, and quickly bolted the doorway. Roy and Hugo weren't coming. They had told him so yesterday, and they had recommended that he not tell anyone, if he valued his limbs. Not one to miss a hint, Frodo had decided to keep quite. Besides, who would listen to him in the first place? Frodo actually liked working alone, but right now, even Roy and Hugo would make a welcome change from this silence.

"Ok, just clean out the stalls, that's all." He said to himself, trying not to think about the seemingly boundless hatred those red eyes had possessed. Every time one of the horses snorted, or whenever some small barn sound was heard, Frodo spun around in panic, but it never was anything. Still, the stable was quite a way from the hall, and surrounded by trees, offering some protection. Then again, Frodo thought nervously, no one to hear him scream.

When Frodo finally finished, the sun was already sinking towards the horizon, casting odd shadows and shapes. Frodo gulped nervously. It was a fifteen minute walk back to the hall, and he didn't want to be caught out after dark. He wasn't afraid of the dark; Frodo just didn't like the idea of walking alone in the dark, with a red eyed murderer on the loose. Frodo very cautiously opened the door, and locked it as fast as he could, so his back wouldn't be facing the woods. He then took a deep breath and started walking as fast as he could without running.

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The cloaked figure watched the young hobbit leave the stable, and starting along the long path home. It smiled to itself, red eyes glowing in the darkness. He would make the hobbit suffer. The thing hissed, drawing the darkness further around itself, as a shield from the setting sun. The thing started after Frodo, keeping to the shadows, waiting for its chance to strike. Yes, the Baggins would pay for what he had done. No. For what he was going to do.

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Cool! My first cliffy! It might be a bit confusing at the moment, but it will start to make sense in a few more chapters. I will try to be more punctual in my updates, but this writer's block keeps coming back! Virtual cookies to all reviewers and a virtual cake to whoever can guess what the "cloaked figure" is. Please r/r!!!

hoom


	3. Chapter 3

**Blood in the Brandywine: Chapter 3**

Sorry about the wait! Again! I think I just broke through my writer's block so I should be updating more consistently. r/r !!!

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the rings, as much as I wish it otherwise.

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Frodo shivered as he walked down the path, not just from the cold, but from something else as well. He hugged himself for warmth as he walked faster, his coat and winter clothes left behind in his parent's house. Darkness was coming on fast, and very soon it would be hard to find his way through the woods. Gusts of wind blew through the trees, making a low moaning noise which only made Frodo walk faster. There was a rustle to his left making his head whip around to face the darkness, then turn back and keep walking. It began to snow, white specks against the surrounding black. Frodo bent his head against the wind as the sun sunk below the horizon. Night had fallen.

A sudden shriek rent the air, and against his will Frodo turned to face it, body numb with fear and cold. The wind was sucking him closer, closer to the thing that had come for him. The snow spiraled towards it, a patch of darkness so dense it threatened to consume him, drawing him forwards with rattling breaths. There was a cruel laugh, and then a sudden surge of power flung out at Frodo, throwing him to the ground. Frodo tried to get up, but it was too strong, and the fact that he hadn't eaten anything since yesterday, and was already weak from fatigue wasn't helping. It came closer, and now Frodo could just make out the outline of a dark hooded creature, a long knife glittering in its hand.

"Bagginsss." It hissed, lifting the knife above Frodo's chest, ready to plunge it downwards into his heart. Even this close to the thing he couldn't make out a face, only a deeper darkness where it should have been.

A dark cold feeling consumed Frodo, and he suddenly felt as if he were drowning, sinking away from the light. The thing's burned red, and then it stuck, the knife arching downwards. Time seamed to slow as Frodo watched the knife plunging down towards his heart. Right before he lost consciousness Frodo was aware of an arrow coming out of nowhere and knocking the knife aside, before it all when dark.

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Frodo was dimly aware of a throbbing pain, before it seared through him, bringing him back to consciousness. As he forced his eyes open, he realized he was still outside, but he had somehow ended up right outside the door to the hall. His left shoulder was in an incredible amount of pain though, so he stopped thinking for a few minutes while he thrashed around, clutching his arm.

'What was that about?' he wondered, when the pain became manageable. He sat up and looked around. No sign of the hooded…thing. No sign of whoever had stopped it either. Frodo slowly got up, his limbs feeling rather drained. Whoever it was, they hadn't wanted to be seen. His eyes caught on something lying in the snow; it looked like some sort of parchment. He picked it up. There was something written on it. He immediately froze, and just stared at it, mouth open.

_ Whatever you do, don't leave the hall. It won't stop hunting you until you're dead- or worse._

_ A Friend_

A slow moan went through the trees, their branches creaking together ominously. Frodo shut his mouth, and went back inside, closing the door firmly behind him.

That night, Frodo didn't sleep. He didn't really try to, he was more focused on making as little sound as possible, while clutching a candlestick ready to strike at the first sign of anything cloaked or hooded. Also, it didn't help that the space under his bed wasn't all that big, and that he had crammed himself there the instant he had found a suitable weapon. Unfortunately, he went through all that trouble for nothing, seeing as nothing further happened that night. All he got from that was a few muscle cramps, a headache, and bloodshot eyes. Actually, his eyes were so bloodshot, that when Frodo first looked in the mirror that morning, he jumped quite a few feet in the air, and was halfway back under his bed before he realized that it was just his reflection.

He had spent the whole night thinking about what happened, and he still had no idea who had written the letter. He had several good reasons to believe that whoever it was, was indeed a friend, or at lest an ally, but he was seriously beginning to doubt that his attacker was human. Those red eyes were not normal, and usually there was more to someone's face then their eyes. All the times he had seen it, all he saw was the eyes. Sure, they were expressive enough (what with the burning hatred and all.), but everything else was hidden by this odd shroud of darkness that seamed to be a part of the thing. It had to have a mouth though, for it had managed to hiss out "_Bagginsss_". The thought did little to cheer Frodo up though, and it cheered him even less when he realized he would have to go back out to the stables again, his Aunt's orders. He decided to try to plead his case, and knowing she wouldn't believe truth, he would have to come up with a suitable reason to stay inside.

Aunt Esmeralda wasn't a bad person; she was just incredibly busy, being the wife of the master of Buckland and all. She really did mean well, she just often had a way of unconsciously making things worse for Frodo while trying to help. So it was with little hope that Frodo approached her that morning.

"Oh, there you are Frodo." Said Aunt Esmeralda, this time frying an omelet with one hand, and mixing ingredients together with the other. "Your cousin Bilbo is coming over today, and I was hopping you could amuse him for me."

Frodo practically froze at this unexpected turn of good luck. Bilbo had always been Frodo's favorite relative, and he had been a frequent visitor back when his parents were still alive. Bilbo was considered a bit odd, but that was just fine by Frodo, not quite fitting in himself. This also meant that he wouldn't have to go out to the stables, and could actually spend the day doing something enjoyable.

"Sure Aunt Esmeralda!" said Frodo energetically. "When is he coming?"

"Any minute now. Could you wait outside, he might need some help getting unpacked-and could you make sure his horse is looked after?" She asked, focused on her stirring and omelet flipping.

"Sure." said Frodo, his later enthusiasm chrushed as fear slowly builded in him. He could wait outside, no problem. It would be just him and that hooded thing. As he headed out, he racked his brains trying to remember if his cousin usually came early or late.

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Thanks for the reviews Noldo wise!!! Much appreciated! And thanks to my beta greenmaiden! Virtual cookies to all reviewers!! 


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